Dr. Emergency: You’ve Been Warned

Affirmation: a declaration that something is true.

According to Wikipedia’s definition of affirmation, “it may also refer to a positive judgment: in logic, the union of the subject and predicate of a proposition” (whatever the crap that means).

Basically, when I think of the word affirmation I think of positivity, of acceptance, of confirmation that I am awesome right.

And, honestly, being right is all the affirmation I need.

This week’s Writer’s Workshop has asked us to share an the affirmation that makes us feel better.

For me, it’s not telling myself I’m beautiful or smart or thin daily that makes me stay the course.

I mean, I’m dumb, but I’m not stupid and even myself can’t convince myself that any of those things are true.

For me the only thing that works is knowing that I’m right.

Confirmation that I am money is really the only thing that motivates me to keep going.

And, quite frankly, there is nothing greater than having the pleasure of knowing that I purchased the right garage door opener even when Dumb Dad said I couldn’t, or of being at practice on the right night even when Dumb Dad said I wasn’t, or even of knowing that #3 was a boy when Dumb Dad said he wasn’t gonna be.

But, it’s not just about being right where Dumb Dad is concerned (although it mostly is because I find little in life more pleasurable than being able to say “in yo face” to that man); it’s about being right where EVERYONE is concerned.

It’s sorta just my thing.

And, I appreciate it when other people have a similar need (unless the other person is Dumb Dad, because we both can’t always be right and being wrong all the time would get really frustrating for him). A need to do the right thing, make the right choice, reach the right diagnosis.

Apparently, not everyone is as committed to being right as I am.

Apparently, not being right is just as fulfilling to some as being right is to me.

Scary, but true.

So, if you read my blog (and you should, I mean, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Fine. I’d love for you to follow my blog, subscribe to my RSS feed, stalk me to the ends of the earth and back, show up at my door with money and gifts and tickets to Justin Timberlake concerts. How about a bribe gift? Fine. Go ahead and enter my handmade clutch giveaway from Julia Sherry Designs. Everyone can be bribed with handbags, right?!).

Like I was saying, if you read my blog, then you know that #3 required a visit to the ER this past Sunday.

Calm down.

He is fine. And, if you missed that post and you’d like to know what that was like you’re gonna have to read: Dumb Mom’s Guide to Surviving the Emergency Room ‘cause I’m not telling.

Back?

Kay. As I was saying he is mostly fine.

He still has some lingering little issues, but he is definitely on his way back to health and wellness.

Which is good.

I mean super natural good.

But, the fact that he is fine now does not mean that the misdiagnosis we received in the ER is entirely a moot point.

I am not one to cry foul, or file a complaint, or even make a big stink out of it.

But, I do give warnings.

And, if you are anyone other than my kids, I only give them once.

So Dr. Emergency (name changed to protect his identity), consider this your warning.

Thoughtful, selfless, amazing human that I am, I am NOT reporting this incident to your superiors. For your sake I will keep this between us, because if I know them (and, for the record, I sorta do), they would not be happy to learn about this incident, and you, Sir, would have some explaining to do.

So since my lack of initiative and free time to be tied up in hospital bureaucracy and evil spiritedness is limited, a letter should suffice.

And, yes, you may Thank Me Later.

Dear Dr. Emergency,

First of all, let me share with you that #3 is on the mend. He is still not 100% back to tearing up the pavement with The Brothers, but he’s definitely on his way. So thank you. Sorta. Thank you for taking a moment (literally A MOMENT) to pop your head in and check on my little man. He’d had a rough go of it, we both had, and we were anxious and exhausted and frightened when we met. So, I appreciate you taking time from your busy schedule (although, isn’t it the case that the ER is like almost always busy?) to spend a few seconds (literally, like less than 60) examining my burning-hot-with-fever baby. I’m sure there were numerous other people patiently awaiting your attentions (however the ones on either side of us weren’t examples of that) and, while I realize attending to patients in the ER is your job, still, I’d like you to know that appreciate it. Now, that being said let me share a little beef I have with you. My kid didn’t have an effing ear infection, dude. Seriously, unless that thing can be gone, without a trace, less than 12 hours post diagnosis, then you made a mistake. Or you just flat out lied. Our primary care doctor (aka Baby Doctor), in her attempt to not make you look like the pathetic, imbecile that you seem to be, provided this explanation, “Perhaps he was afraid, because the fever was so high? So he gave the antibiotic just in case?” Perhaps. Only here’s the thing, we don’t take antibiotics “just in case”. We take antibiotics “because we have to”. And, I understand that many people would be upset to wait in the ER for hours with a lethargic, irritable, exhausted baby only to go in the back and have them say, “It’s a virus. Take two Tylenol and call me in the morning,” we are not those people. I may be a Dumb Mom, but I’m not a dumb human (especially not in comparison to the mental giants assigned the bed next to us on this fateful trip). I understand how antibiotics work. I appreciate the distinction between viral infections and bacterial infections (and I don’t need you to call them “buggies” so I understand). I realize that medical science is not miracle working, and that sometimes you just don’t know (pisses me off, but I get it). So, in future, do us all a favor and don’t guess. Don’t give my child an antibiotic just to shut me up in case and think about spending more than half a minute in the room with us to make a diagnosis. I know time is money we really aren’t that important tight schedule busy night someone’s sicker you were under a great deal of pressure (but, that’s part of it, right? Working in the ER is a stressful job.). Which is why, this is between us. I’m not sending a copy of this to the president of the place. I’m not even going to share your name with the World Wide Web anyone. This is for you. As a warning. Because things are okay. But, should #3s whatever-he-has turn into the Bubonic Plague or some creepy mind altering infection that leaves him sterile or paralyzed or worse it will be on like Donkey Kong. I will find you and you will cry. There’s something to be afraid of, and you’ll need a lot more than a 10 day course of amoxicillin to throw me off. XOXO, Dumb (but not stupid) Mom

Okay readers, bring on the affirmations, in the form of comments if you please:)

And, feel free to link up your Thank Me Later posts as well!

Well, if the Linky thingy isn't working (because I can't see it, so maybe you can't either?) just leave your link in the comments and I'll add it when the bloody thing stops tripping.

Health Care Reform for This Dummy

Relive a day?

Yeah-no.

I don’t have any days I’d like another shot at, Mama Kat.

Because a)the days that suck are forgotten the EXACT moment they end, and b)as I’m arguably as close to perfect as you can get while still being human, I don’t make mistakes or have regrets EVER so yeah, I’m good.

Yeah-right.

Honestly, I can tell you way more about the days I DON’T want to relive, because they sorta stick out in my mind.

Like yesterday.

Because it sucked.

Badly.

Like, on a suckiness scale of 1 to 10, 10 being as sucky as a day can possibly be, I’ll say yesterday was a good strong 7.

Not the worst day ever, but so ridiculously far from the best it’s not even funny.

Okay, so maybe it’s a little bit funny (or I intend to make it seem that way), but still.

Here’s the bright side of this whole sucky-suck-day-from-sucking-Suckville, I learned something!

That’s right peeps, in the face of adversity and hardship, Dumb Mom got out her thinking cap and had herself a think.

And you know what I decided?

That health care reform is important, that’s what.

Now, I know that pBd is not the place to go for political debates, social consciousness, or discussions about morality, but you know what, today it’s gonna be.

Sorta (because you are not allowed to disagree with me or disprove my theories, I don’t like that so I’m forbidding it entirely).

Now that the ugly has come to call on Dumb Mom I’ve decided to get involved.

Well not involved, involved, more like involved-by-telling-you-my-story-because-I-want-to involved.

Because that’s what I do.

I don’t make posters (because I have the penmanship of a 5 year old), or join campaigns (unless they offer free babysitting!), or donate money (by I do donate my old shoes and handbags when I gorgeous new ones!), or go on exhausting freedom marches (holy walking Batman! These 4-inch-heeled boots weren't made for walkin').

I tell stories. About myself, because myself is awesomethat's pretty much all I know.

So how about I tell you one about how Dumb Mom came out of her self-centered cocoon of self centeredness and decided that there is a such thing as civic duty and social responsibility and, contrary to what she used to believe, it doesn’t start and end at that voting poll every four years in November?

Okay, so maybe sharing a story that I really just want to share because I’m peeved doesn’t actually qualify as performing my civic duty, but still, in the civic duty department it's all I got.

So, yeah…

Yesterday, actually three days ago, as I was chauffeuring #2 to school I felt something in my back.

A tickle. Not of the happy, fun sort.

It was the other sort.

The sort that tells you something may not be quite right. Not really time to panic, but definitely time to pay attention.

So I did, and it got worse, and then it got better, and then it got MUCH worse, and then I called my doctor, and then it got a little better, but then it got worse again, so I made an appointment, and I went in, and I peed in a cup, and they said they wanted me to have a CT pyelogram to check the old kidney and see if it was busted up.

And that is where the crap hit the fan.

Because that is when my health insurance had to get involved.

Now. Here are a few things you should know:

1. Dumb Dad is a professional. He doesn’t stand at one of those corners downtown and wait with a group of dudes for other groups of dudes to come along in pickup trucks and take him to a work site for a day. And, he doesn’t work for cash or get paid under the table or even with a 1099. Actually, he is an employee of our federal government so his job is W-2, 401K, 2 legit 2 quit.

2. Dumb Dad has been employed by his employer for a whole butt load of years. And, he’s in good standing at his job too. Not on probation or anything cooky like that.

3. We have health insurance, which is paid for through Dumb Dad’s employer. It’s not through the state and we don’t get it for free. We pay. A lot. Of cash.

4. We have had the same insurance carrier for 8 years.

5. We effing hate them and are convinced that they are trying to kill us. Mostly just me, but sometimes the kids too (Dumb Dad has been to the doctor twice in the past 8 years both times for hurting his ankle; his pretty much immune to every germ known to man. Plus when kids get sick around here he encases himself in latex and only touches them if ABSOLUTELY-FRIGGIN' necessary).

My main beef is that I see no reason why the insurance company should be allowed to decide if or when or how I should get my medical care.

I get that they need to be notified and kept up to date on my health related goings ons.

But, do they really need to “approve” a visit to urgent care? If I have time to stand around and wait for a referral, maybe the situation ain’t all that urgent!

Just sayin’. That’s why I go to the doctor, right?

I mean, if it’s really just up to the insurance company why don’t I just cut out the middle man and go directly to them with my ailment and they can tell me what to do for it?

Would be a huge time saver for people like me who don't have time to be doubled over in pain, sweating like I stole something sick.

Seriously. Because today, when my MEDICAL DOCTOR suggested that I get a CT scan, know-it-all-insurance-company-from-Hell said, “Are you sure she needs that? Today? Really? She can’t wait until, say, Monday? Why? Is she dying? Like actually dying?" Because if not…?”

And then, I had to hurry up and find someone to watch The Dudes and get my tail straight over to the CT scanning place so that they could take it today because if not then I’d have to wait. For days. Until the insurance company decided that I really need it.

And that’s not the first time this has happened.

They’ve done it with chest x-rays and prescriptions and visits to specialists.

And, I realize that “The Obama Plan” is not going to address this specifically, but it is supposed to address another problem that keeps me locked to this bloody-effing-insurance-company-from-Hell: “the end of discrimination against people with pre-existing conditions”.

Because as you all know I have one.

And because of my pre-existing condition I’m unable to ditch the crap-company-that-is-trying-to-off-me for one that will give me more freedom and access.

Because despite the fact that I rarely ever have issues with my kidneys, and that I am otherwise as healthy as a horse, no one wants to take on this land mine of a body because apparently it's about to blow.

So I’m stuck.

And that sucks.

Because, contrary to what some believe about people who are in favor of health care reform, we aren’t unemployed, and we’re not illegal immigrants, and we take care of ourselves, and we pay our bills, and we contribute to society, and we aren’t trying to get something for nothing, and I don’t want you to get less, but still here I am, sitting in pain, sucking down Tylenol, waiting to see what my insurance company my doctor is going to do next to figure out why my left side hurts so badly I can hardly breathe.

So yeah. That’s my story.

And it made enjoying #2’s official birthday pretty friggin’ difficult.

But I did it, because I love him and I wanted his day to be special and I secretly hope that one day he will realize just how awesome of a mommy I was and he will thank me for it (with a house, or a car, or a cruise, old people like to cruise).

I’m not gonna hold my breath for that one, because serving KFC and a Hostess cupcake may have gotten the job done, but I doubt that it will be winning me any mommying awards.

Lucky for me his standards are pretty low and he enjoyed it thoroughly.

Better luck next year little man!

Link your Thank Me Later Thursday posts here, I will visit and leave lovely comments on each and every one of them (which is not even hard since only a few of you do it anyway!)

A Blog for the People

Okay.

I’ve shared a lot on this blog.

About my family (only because I kinda have to; it’s a “parenting” blog after all, even if I don’t really excel in that!).

About my marriage (well, not so much. Dumb Dad is sort of an enigma).

About my job (what friggin’ job?!).

About the fact that doing Writer's Workshop every Thursday with Mama K is my life's goal.

Even about my effed up stank butt kidney from Hell internal organs (might as well, they suck it anyway).

I think I’ve put it all out there (not much to IT actually, so no big deal).

To read me is to know me, that’s what I always say.

parenting BY dummies is an open book.

But the one thing I’ve never really shared with you is why I blog.

Why do I open myself up to criticism, and ridicule, and judgment?

Why do I share my inner most thoughts and desires?

Why do I make a fool of myself for the enjoyment of others?

I’ll tell you why.

Because you love me. That’s why.

I do it all for you, people.

It’s obviously not the fame or fortune.

Not that I don’t desire fame and fortune (call me TLC, I have a marvelous idea for a new reality show: Dumb Mom Nation. I go around and spend the day giving other moms a break from their hectic lifestyles. I watch their kids, I do their laundry, I even go on dates with their husbands entertain their in-laws. And then, when they come back from their lovely, relaxcation I go over the 101 ways that they are dumb and give them constructive, provided by an actual professional, ways to improve. Awesome, right?!), but there just doesn’t seem to be enough of that to go around.

I like to interact with my 10 readers (I think I’ve gained a few since Bloggy BC).

It didn’t start out that way, of course, but that’s what it’s become.

A way for me to share with you; to feel more connected to the outside world.

To make your days brighter, really.

Which is why I make up funtastic little things like Thank Me Later Thursday that pretty much just Maggie participates in (thank you Maggie).

And, even though Thank Me Later hasn’t taken off the way I’d hoped, or at all, I’m gonna try again.

Because I’m a glutton for punishment a sweetie like that.

Introducing: Mom Tip Tuesday!

An easy way for you to do what you do best…Tell other people what to do, and how to do it!

Share what you know, or what you want others to know, or how to know more like you do, or what to do with what they know, or where to take what they know and shove it, okay maybe not so much he last one, but you get the picture!

Because mom’s like to brag share.

And most of us have tons of things to brag share about only no one around who cares to share with.

That’s what we, your hopelessly devoted bloggy buddies, are for.

To listen when no one else will.

To praise you when no one else notices.

And, to steal your ideas and act like they are our own (okay, maybe only I do that).

So, if you have a handy little piece of advice, a recipe, a craft, a dummy proof DIY home project I (and by I of course I’m speaking for all Dumb Mom readers) would love for you to share.

So we can steal it support you, and tell you you’re amazing, and possibly attempt to incorporate your advice/project/awesome way of life into our own homes.

Now, I know you probably have tons of questions.

Let me answer a few of those.

Q1: Hey Dumb Mom, what if I shared this perfectly delicious recipe for cow tongue last year when no one was reading my blog. Can I repost that and share it with you all now?

A: Well of course, Made Up Question Asker! Feel free to share a previously posted post, but we’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t share them all, on the same day. Maybe just one or two.

Q2: You know, Dumb Mom, I already participate in a meme that I really like doing on Tuesdays. Can I add a tip into that and post it here also or does the whole post have to be about a tip?

A: Good one, Second Made Up Question Asker! All I can say is that I’m really desperate not particular. I mostly just want people to come to pBd to share what they’ve got going on over at their blogs. Your tip can be an entire post or one line of an entire post about something else. I’ll take what I can get.

Q3: Well, Dummy, if I enter a link are you even gonna read it?

A: First of, calm down, Champ. Dumb Mom I’m fine with, Dum-my, not so much. And, yes. If I host a Linky on pBd it’s because I really do want to read your posts and interact with you on your blogs. So, yeah, you link it and I’ll read it, simple as that.

Q4: This is truly awesome, Dumb Mom. Should we thank you now or later?

A: You know, either way works for me:). Adding your links below (and on Tuesday) is thanks enough!

Hopefully that covers everything and some of you (other than just Maggie, bless her devoted blogging heart) will be inspired to participate.

Because that’s what it’s all about, right?!

On that note, I also have to tell you that I’m entering a sweet little BlogHer contest hosted by Chicken Nuggets of Wisdom and Seed.

It’s about my Seedology, which, from what I can discern, basically translates into what sustains me.

I made a funky fresh Whrrl Story about it.

Watch it if you want. Just to bribe you...It has never before seen pictures of The Dudes.

Powered by Whrrl

You can enter too only, as I plan to win, there is really no reason that you should.

The only thing you should do is leave me a lovely comment saying that you love me, and make sure you find your way back here with a tip to share next Tuesday and every Tuesday after that for the rest of your blogging life.

Amen.

Baby P.I.M.P Status Update.

TA-DA!

The party is over!

Sort of.

#3 has mastered potty training.

A little.

After two strong days of full blown rebellion, he decided that I was in it to win it and his best course of action would be to cooperate.

Partially.

And that’s why I friggin’ love this kid so much.

He really has been my most pleasant toddler (so far; fingers crossed).

I know some of you will probably get all morally outraged because you think I’m saying that I like him better than the others.

But, that’s not true at all.

I only like him better than the others sometimes.

Now is one of those times.

Because he’s just SO smart.

And well mannered. And cooperative. And helpful.

All things that make you likable.

I’ve already discussed how advanced he is in terms of his speaking and reasoning and stuff.

But, in addition to being able to count to 12 1000 and identify the planets, he also says ‘thank you’, and ‘please’, and ‘bless you’, and ‘let me get that’ like a real life gentleman.

And, he does exactly what you ask him to do.

Mostly.

In addition to starting his potty training journey recently, he also moved from a crib to a toddler bed.

Do you know that Mr.. Man hasn’t gotten out of his bed alone even one time?

I said, “Night, night booger. Make sure you stay in your bed and call mommy when you are ready to get up because if you get up alone you could hurt yourself. Okay?”

He said, “Kay, Mommy. I call you get me up?”

I said, “You betcha bud.”

He said, “Kay, Mommy. Wuv you.”

I said, “Love you too, kiddo.”

And that was that.

When he wakes up he yells, “Mommy, I back!” Which I’m guessing is his way of saying he’s done sleeping and ready to entertain me again.

Naturally I put one of those have-to-be-a-contortionist-to-open-it child proofing door knob thingys on his door, and I put the baby gate in front of his door when I go to bed, since his room opens at the top of the stairs, just to be safe.

But, so far so good!

Two weeks he’s been sleeping in there without incident.

Wanna know what #2 did when he got freed from his baby sleeping cage (aka the crib)?

He tore his bedroom a new one.

Every single day for a full week.

Ripped stuff off the walls, emptied the drawers, even tried to “pet” the fish.*

When asked about it he would claim, unyieldingly, that “a monster did it”.

Yeah it was a freakin’ monster all right.

Only we were not in agreement on who the monster was exactly.

I said it was him. He denied such accusations vehemently.

This situation only ceased when someone gave me a video camera baby monitor at my baby shower for #3.

I promptly installed the surveillance item in #2’s room.

I warned him, of course (I’m not into illegal taping) and, he was savvy enough to appreciate the new addition to his room and never let that monster in again.

Point is, he’s never been big on cooperating.

Still isn’t.

But, #3, he rocks at cooperation.

And at being helpful.

Like put-your-coat-and-shoes-away-without-being-reminded helpful.

But potty training.

That pretty much kicked my a$% there at the beginning.

He was so uncooperative I’d even say he was downright noncompliant.

But the worst part is sorta over.

Because it’s been days since he had a daytime accident (even holding it through his nap).

We do have one little problem though…

The kid will not willingly drop a deuce!

The only time he will is when his sphincter, after days of torture, gives in to the pressure and lets the last 2 or 3 days worth of rotten booty stuffing come tumbling out.

It comes at somewhat of a surprise to him.

He screams in horror, as do I.

And, it is rotten.

Like involuntary-gag-response-kicks-in rotten.

Like road-kill-in-mid-July rotten.

Like, you get the picture.

So I have to have a difficult conversation** with the kid’s gastro-intestinal system.

Because this has got to stop.

Or start.

And, while I’m sure that #3 would be horrified if he knew what I was planning for his inside’s, I’m certain that come next week he’ll appreciate my efforts when he weighs 3lbs less and can walk upright again.

Thank me later, kiddo, I know you’ll want to!

Dear Baby P.I.M.P’s GI System,

First, let me congratulate you on making it this far. I am so happy to be able to say that I am the proud parent to a largely potty trained just-turned-two year old little dude. So give yourself a pat on the duodenum for a job well done! But. Before you go getting all happy and start celebrating with a bottle of Mylanta, we need to discuss the matter of “making poopies”, as the brain behind the booty likes to call it. I know you get a little stage fright when it comes time to put on a “show”, but you have to realize that this holding-it-till-it-rots initiative you are working on can only end badly. I mean let’s look at what’s happened so far already: things have gotten so far backed up in there you must be feeling it up in the esophageal area, when you do finally let a little bit out it is so large and cumbersome as to cause injury, and the kid is starting to get a major psychological hang up about doing “the do”. Not. Cool. We want this whole experience to be positive, relieving, and easy. I’m not sure what you’ve done to the laxative I’ve spiked his food with and I’m not sure how the juice, dried fruit, and bran muffins have not kicked in, but seriously, you are asking for it. Do you want an enema? Does that sound like your idea of a good time? Because it sounds really invasive and disgusting to me. But I’ll go there if you make me. I can’t have this kid crying uncle every time one hits the chamber. So, get on board, buddy, or be prepared to take it in the pooper!

*Fish petting resulted in the loss of about 65% of the water in the tank and a stressed to death fish.

**Mama Kat suggested we have a difficult conversation this week for Writer’s Workshop, and since I was just about to have myself one anyway…

Add your links.

We both know I'm desperately begging someone to participate in my original, fun, and easy to manage memeyou want to!

Baby P.I.M.P

Don’t go getting all bawdy on me.

It’s not what you think.

I actually sorta wish it were.

Because instead of this…

funny, cuteness.

We are over here stuck in the throws of potty training Hell and I don’t have time for comedy or crassness (who am I kidding, there is ALWAYS time for a little crass?!).

For the duration of this urine-soaked-feces-stained adventure, we will be referring to #3 as Baby P.I.M.P not because of his well developed backhanding abilities, or his commitment to outlandish hats.

In this case P.I.M.P does not refer to an agent for prostitutes who lives off their earnings (you know, I love Wikipedia, I really do).

In our house P.I.M.P refers to Party In My Pants, instead of in the potty as it should be.

Because in the last week Baby P.I.M.P has peed in every room on the first level of my home and at least 50% of the upstairs area as well.

Additionally, he has dropped a turd (well, technically I dropped it as I sprinted to the bathroom with him in my arms, butt exposed to the world) in my basement and in my kitchen, or my hallway, or…

Not really sure exactly where the second one was produced, but it fell out of his pants leg (and rolled into a corner) somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom.*

Point is at the moment I am feeling both exhausted and filthy.

My house smells like the subway and I’m sick to death of chasing naked Baby P.I.M.P all over the place to prevent a spot marking incident.

At the moment the only positive is that there is hope that I will soon be saying buh-bye to diapers.

As you may know I am/was a part-time cloth diapering mama.

I use the things when I’m home (Dumb Dad categorically refused to use the things claiming they are well beyond his scope of parenting).

I can’t claim to be a staunch naturalist in this (or any) regard, but I would scream their praises from the rooftops (if I had a stable rooftop to climb upon and a rapt audience at my disposal).

They are awesome for all of the reasons people say they are…less diaper rash, easier on the wallet, better for the environment, not really as hard as they used to be, so stinking cute it’s ridiculous.

But, there was one little element that I hadn’t prepared for…they stink!

Like for reals.

Fonk-key.

#3 is actually The Baby Previously Known as Bus Station Booty, because I swear those things were as nasty smelling as a homeless-man-inhabited bus station stairwell.

So Dumb Dad started calling him Bus Station Booty.

I know it probably had a lot to do with my under performance in the cloth diaper cleaning department, but I swear I tried.

I sprayed them down with the hose after every soiling, I let them soak in a bucket of bacteria friendly water, I washed them twice in our high powered washing machine, on the sanitizing cycle, I hung them outside to dry, hoping the fresh air would seal out the ugly.

No dice.

Still stank.

So, I’m happy to send them on the road and graduate him to chonies.**

Because we are also part-time pull-up avoiders.

We use them when we are not home.

Otherwise we don’t.

Which is why my entire house has been touched by bodily waste.

Because I can’t always catch him.

Sometimes I am tied up talking on the phone checking my email stuffing my face while I hide in the garage cooking dinner.

And then he creeps off to a secret location and unleashes the dragon.

Even though he got this shiny wonder of potty training awesomeness***…

Yep, it’s a Baby Bjorn Smart Potty (which I think means it is guaranteed to lead to potty training success, right?).

But, Mr. I’ll-pee-where-I-want-and-you-can’t-stop-me still acts all put out about doing his naughty on the potty…

I mean, I don’t get it, it looks comfy enough (I considered trying it for the sake of doing a full review, but figured I’d probably shatter it).

I can attest that it has a removable potty-catching part (which is way awesome) that is easy to use (kids around here earn their keep, man, no free rides!)…

And, you can use it for tons of other stuff cool stuff too…

Point is you’d think he’d be happier about making deposits.

But he’s not.

So. I’ve decided to regroup.

Take a different approach and get everyone (and by everyone I pretty much just mean P.I.M.P) on the same peeing-on-the-floor-is-evil page.

A list, perhaps?

Personally, I always make them when trying to decide on the best course of action (and when Mama Kat tells me to!).

So, Baby P.I.M.P.

To convince you…

10 Reasons Giving Up Diapers Will Make You More Awesome

1. Buh-bye bus station booty.

2. No need to hold still for diaper changes (not that you ever did this anyway).

3. Diarrhea up your back will end forever (to be replaced by diarrhea down your leg, but still).

4. You can play in the potty bathroom with your brothers.

5. You can participate in the unsanctioned activities as described above in #4 and get in trouble just like they do. That will make you a bad a$%. Girls like that.

6. You will no longer have to sneak off to do your business (no more crouching behind the couch and batting at me like an injured raccoon).

7. You can get cool character chonies like Bruver and Wee (#3’s nickname for #2).

8. You can dress yourself like you want (seriously, I don’t care if you wear snow boots and board shorts everyday for the rest of your life just PEE. IN. THE. POTTY!).

9. I’ll give you candy (and other stuff) with the extra cash we save on diapers and wipes and pee-in-your-pants paraphernalia.

10. I’ll like you better.

See?!

Doesn’t this sound like a better way to live?

Happier? Healthier? Hotter?

You can’t be hot in a foul smelling cloth diaper with diarrhea up you back.

But this…

This is HOT!

Or, at least it will be once we work out the particulars.

So stop acting all hostile when I ask you if you need to use the potty.

Stop lurking around behind the couch and in the pantry.

No more lying about if you went (the neighbors can smell it so, really, why bother?).

I know you don’t want to be potty trained.

But I’m telling you it’s for the best.

It may not feel like it now, but when you’re successfully wearing big boy pants at school like all of the other kids you’ll be glad we did this.

And yes, you can THANK ME LATER!

Link is down there. Hook it up.

*Blessing in disguise is that his turds are like little rocks because he’s constipated himself by holding it in so long. He is strangely freaked out about dropping the kids off at the pool, but as long as he’s wearing underwear he refuses to let loose in those either. So, he holds it, for as long as he physically can, at which point his sphincter gives out and a turd tumbles free. It’s a little bit sad actually.

**Chonies- Mexican for underwear:)

***It was free because I’m a super cool Baby Bjorn Believer which basically means I love them and they love me right back. Ours is red though so it’s even more snazzy and gorgeous. You are welcome to choose from any of the other colors they have:)

What NOT To Do: An Expert's Guide

parenting BY dummies is “a guide to parenting by someone who has tried everything you DON’T want to do”.

Knowing what NOT to do is sorta my thing.

I guess you could say I specialize in Don’ts.

I’m something of an expert in identifying the common pitfalls of parenthood.

I find the don’ts and do them anyway so you don’t have to.

It’s sorta my public service to struggling mothers everywhere.

So, when my girl Mama Kat said, “Hey Dumb Mom,” (and she may not have actually said those words aloud, but when she designed this week’s Writer’s Workshop prompts she definitely had me in mind) she said, “you are rockin’ momhood, lookin’ all good, doin’ your damn thang, why don’t you go ahead and come up with a list of Do’s and Don’ts for the rest of us?”

And, even though there was no money involved, I decided to go for it, because you know what, with out me and my constant failures to be your guide where would you all be?

But, in an effort to stay on her good side, I decided to do one better.

I’m not even gonna deal with the Dos, because, frankly, they aren’t important.

I mean, I in case you hadn’t noticed don’t even know what to do (if I did this blog would be called parenting FOR dummies); but I don’t need to.

They key to survival is avoidance.

Knowing what NOT to do is what’s gonna save your life on a day-to-day basis.

The dos are for those smart moms to talk about.

The Don’ts are for the rest of us.

And, in an effort to give you something even more useful, I’ve compiled a list of Don't’ for your kids, because really they are the ones that need it right?

Think about it, if they knew more about what not to do your life would be at least like 75% easier (at the very least it would eliminate your need to come up with creative forms of punishment).

So print this off, give it your little people, and make ‘em read it (or read it to them if they are still card carrying members of the illiteracy club).

YOU CAN THANK ME LATER!

DON’TS for Kids: A Dumb Mom’s Guide to Keeping You Out of Trouble

1. DON’T wake your mom up by tapping on her head and saying any of the following: I puked on your floor, I peed in my bed, I found a snake, or I think the car is gone.
2. DON’T decide to “help out” by mopping the floor, cleaning the fish tank, or watering the plants. Water is fun for you but Mommy pretty much hates it.
3. DON’T attempt to use any of the following household appliances: the phone (even if it is to call the police on your brother), the microwave (I know it’s “easy” because you only have to press one button, but since you can’t read pressing p-o-t-a-t-o instead of p-o-p-c-o-r-n can lead to catastrophic results), the garage door opener (just because you have no business even being in the garage), the washing machine (see above tip regarding water usage), the dryer (because you fold like your father), and the iron (don’t worry, you’ll never see this one laying around our house anyway).
4. DON’T give unsolicited advice; the lady across the street could do with out your yard care recommendations.
5. DON’T beg for things at the store. Such behavior is embarrassing to your mother and it gives her money in the bank, so to speak, when it comes to future opportunities to chaperone your high school dances. You will be sorry. This mamma knows how to jerk and she ain’t afraid to use it!
6. DON’T use any of the words your mommy uses while she’s driving. That means douche, d-bag, crap face, and ignoramus are all off limits.
7. DON’T heckle other drivers. Mommy’s got that covered.
8. DON’T store things in the toilet. Your effort to put things away is greatly appreciated, but please refer again to #2 above to fully understand our stance on water based activities.
9. DON’T throw food while at the table. This is particularly important if that table is located in the middle of a restaurant (which is unlikely because no one ever wants to take you anywhere ever, but still).
10. DON’T disrobe without receiving permission in advance (and “in advance” does NOT mean while Mommy is distracted with talking to your soccer coach at the supermarket).
11. DON’T disrobe in public regardless of advanced permissions you may or may not have received.
12. DON’T ask to accompany Mommy to Target (because that’s her leisure time), the bathroom (because that’s private), or Wal-Mart (because that’s just crazy).
13. DON’T put your shoes on the counter (even if they’re “clean”).
14. DON’T be a poor sport. Even if Daddy is moping on the corner of the field or kicking the ground, you say good game, give a hi-five, and head for the car. Let Mommy deal with Daddy.
15. DON’T fight dirty with your brothers. Fighting dirty would include any of the following maneuvers: eye gauges, nostril pulling, butt hole assaults, attempted ear drum rupturing, and hitting in the “nuts”.
16. DON’T use the word nuts.
17. DON’T poop your pants at school and then lie when asked about it. Seriously, Dude, people could smell it out in the hallway, it’s time to fess up.
18. DON’T scream for Mommy when she gets ready to go out for her one girl’s night of the quarter. When she’s home you don’t want her so give it a rest. Besides, you should know that once you can rely on your own feet for transportation the affect of your tears has pretty much worn of entirely.
19. DON’T get up before Mommy has her coffee the sun.
20. DON’T grow up. Based on your father other men, growing up is a losing situation for Mommy. Gone will be all of your sweet innocence, your pudgy cheeks, and your unconditional love, but you keep all of the pickiness, the stubbornness, and the inflexibility; traits that move from being tolerable to downright annoying.

Now, since I know you are here to participate in Thank Me Later Thursday, go ahead and add your Linky down there so we can read all about it.*

*If you aren’t here to participate in Thank Me Later Thursday or to enter your picture in my Fugly Face Photo Contest (which ends tomorrow by the way!) or to leave me a comment saying you love me and you hope the snow magically disappears then you aren’t allowed to use my list of DON'Ts to make your kids better people.

And yes, I really am that petty.

Thank Me Later Thursday: Miley Edition

Welcome back to another week of Thank Me Later Thursday, where you get to join me in telling people why they should be thanking me for the awesomeness I've allowed them to experience.

Seriously, you should join me; it's FUN!

And, for extra points ('cause I'm totally keeping score), I also try to make sure that all of my Thank Me Later Thursday posts fit nicely with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop prompts (which for this week is: A song you can’t escape).

It's sort of a competition I have going on with her.

A secret one.

That she doesn't know about.

Shhhh! I'm totally winning!

So, who is this week's lucky recipient of the Thank Me Later honor at Casa de Dummies?

#3!

Because as I have aged, my music preferences have mysteriously decided not to. My way of staying youthful, keeping in touch with the younger generation, forcing the fact that I'm hip, I'm cool down my children's throats?

Possibly.

Point is, if you have a teenage daughter at home chances are good the two of us are listening to the same stuff.

For example, should you go to the section on my ipod that says, "Recently Played" you will discover tracks such as "Kiss Me Through the Phone", by Souljaboy Tell 'Em (yes, after years in the music biz this mental giant decided to expand his name to include a verb and an abbreviated pronoun; explanation not provided), "One Time", by Justin Beiber (a song which prompted Dumb Dad to inquire about my infatuation with young boys. Don't peg me pervy, it's not any young boys! Only best selling artists and manly muscled teen wolfs.), and one that baffles even me, "Party in the U.S.A." by none other than Hannah Montana Miley Cyrus (which is also my current cellphone ringtone. I know, it sounds horrible, but I seriously did it months ago just to bug Hubby and haven't ever changed it. You'd be surprised how people look at me in the grocery store when it rings!).

Anyway, point is that since #3 and I spend an exorbitant amount of our time together in the car and at home (where he has been deemed the ipod Nazi as he requires music that he selects to be playing AT ALL TIMES), we have developed a similar taste in music (although I have to admit that he is essentially ruining "Fireflies" by Owl City for me by requesting it, a word I use to mean screaming, "FIREFWIES! NOT DAT SONG, MOMMY! PWAY FIREFWIES!", repeatedly).

Take a moment to view the evidence:



Not bad for a just-turned-2-year-old, right? And, did you see the part where he was droppin' it like it's hot? Yeah, I taught him that!

So, here you have it, #3s special Miley-inspired-Thank-Me-Later:

Hey, #3, don't worry about it, you can Thank Me Later. You know, for turning you into a pop-songcessed child with the music taste of a tween girl. You may become the laughing stalk of your high school class if this continues (can you imagine him singing this in the locker room while he dresses for football?!), but the hours we've spent dancing and singing together in the kitchen will be priceless memories that you will be able to cherish for a lifetime. And, just in case you forget, there are hours of videotaped evidence (see above) that I won't hesitate to pull out (in front of skanky fast little hookers in training girls) to remind you of our happy times. So did you want to go ahead and thank me now or wait until your Super Sweet 16 birthday party to do it (and yes, MTV original shows have become quite a good friend to me as well)? Either way works for me. XOXO, Your-golly-aren't-you-lucky Dumb Mom

Wanna play along?

It's easy!

Just grab a button from my sidebar (you don't have to, but you will make me happy, and that is optimal for both of us. 'Cause I know people. Important people. Just sayin'.), put it on your blog, link back to me, and add your link to the hand dandy Mr. Linky box (which I paid $10 for so make it worth it, people!).

How easy is that?

So very.

And then, once you've shared your fantastic story about why you're awesome while people around you are busy causing you to questions the rules against forced sterilization, you can send me you 90's inspired photo so that you have a chance to be crowned parenting BY dummies Blog Dawg of the year.

Not because you're particularly proud of the fact that you spent half of your adolescence hiding in the bathroom from mean girls, but because now that you are a happily for today, not sure about next week married, successful laid off and getting fat corporate diva, or a blissful accidental, and waiting 'til they're 18 mother, you can turn around to all of those high school haters and say, "In yo face with a can of mace, make you cry all over the place."

Seriously, how fun is that?

So. Very.

Thank Me Later Thursday: Inaugural Edition

BOOM BABY!

It’s here.

The very first soon-to-be-famous edition of Thank Me Later Thursday, hosted by the probably-more-likely-to-be-infamous blog parenting BY dummies.

Since it’s our first time, I’ll take it slow and start with explaining exactly how this little naughty is supposed to work.

Kay.

I write a post about something that happened in which the other person/place/thing involved behaved in an annoying, embarrassing, or otherwise unfavorable way and then had the gall, the audacity, the galldacity to demonstrate inadequate amounts of gratitude towards me for not sweeping the leg, punching them in the throat, and/or putting them in a headlock.

Or.

I just give you some much needed advice that you can internalize or share with people in your life who really need it.

Easy, right?

Well, let’s jump right in then.

Since I am feeling in a particularly benevolent mood today, I’m gonna hook you up with some advice (which you can go ahead and feel free to use as the answer to one of Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop prompts for the week. You know, the one about advice from someone who knows stuff? I’ll be that someone for you.).

Now, I know that I’m not exactly an "expert", per se on any of these issues, but I do feel that I have tons of years of training in all of these departments.

I mean, I’ve been a mom for over 8 years now. I’ve been preggers three times. I’ve been married for 7 years (oops, guess that skeleton just fell outta the closet!). I’m a trained educator (among other largely useless things).

Plus, I consider myself an expert on nothing who knows pretty much everything. Maybe not ‘cause I’m super smart, but because I’ve had more fail days than most people in similar situations and, while I may not be savvy enough to avoid the recurrence of such days, I am smart enough to at least take notes.

So, please enjoy Dumb Mom’s Basic (ever growing) Guide to Life*.

And, um, you can THANK ME LATER!

Dumb Mom’s Guide to Dating

1. Don’t hook up with guys who live in your apartment building. Unless you are rich (in which case hook up with whoever you want). Otherwise they are likely to have similar earning capabilities as you and will therefore not be able to support you should you require that after you get fired for stealing paper from the printer at work.
2. Don’t spend countless years looking for a perfect 10. Find yourself a 7 when you are young and make him a 10. Man remodeling is one of my favorite past times. It’s hard work, but it’s so rewarding. Be aware though, that no matter where he started, they all turn out to be 4s once the baby shows up.

Dumb Mom’s Guide to Marriage

1. Develop a celebrity crush. This is to ensure that there is someone to focus on (other than the guy who empties your trash at work) when hubby acts like a caveman. You’d be surprised to learn how awesome the trash dude can look when Hubby’s antics have you in a tizzy.
2. Spend time doing things you love. Not together, silly. SEPARATELY. This will allow you to enjoy your awesome pre-married life without having to get all wrapped up in his totally-unawesome-gaming-addicted-sports-aholic-pre-married life that you married him in spite of, not because of.
3. Communicate better. Meaning, give him a list (handwritten and taped to the refrigerator so he can’t lose it) of actual words to use (like frustrated, lonely, proud, etc) that a responsible human with a brain (aka you) will respond to. This should eliminate the grunts, head nods, and it-was-goods that he automatically resorts to during conversation. Details people. It’s all about DETAILS.
4. Use tears. They work.

Dumb Mom’s Guide to Pregnancy

1. Eat whatever you want. It is the only time in your life that it will be okay for you to be fat.
2. Get new friends. Like pregnant ones. Because you will be a huge drag to all of your never-been-there buddies who really just want you to shut up about your back, and your feet, and your vag. I mean don’t get me wrong, you can still kick it with them from time to time, just try to find a pregnant friend or one that has a baby too so you don’t make yourself the fat-annoying-whiny-seriously-with-the-effing-baby-crap buzz kill friend. I mean already you can’t drink anymore, you can’t dance on the bar anymore, and despite the halfhearted mumblings to the contrary, you really don’t look that cute in the fitted jeans anymore. And, none of these things are gonna change too much once baby is born. Well, actually, I lied. It will change, because it’ll be even worse.
3. Buy your soon-to-be-born kid cute clothes. Because it is fun.

Dumb Mom’s Guide to Motherhood

1. Don’t be nervous. You honestly are not expected to know what to do. Being anxious and exhausted all the time is like part of your divine punishment for having so much fun creating the little crumb snatchers. When you’ve worked off your had-too-much-fun-time-to-pay debt to the universe, things will mellow out a bit and your kid will start acting like a human, as opposed to an alien sent to Earth specifically to torture you.
2. Don’t compare your kids. Not to other kids, and not to each other. All it does is make you and them think they suck. Nobody likes to think they suck.
3. Don’t bother learning to cook. Pretty much everything they are gonna eat without puking can be made in a toaster oven or a microwave. Instead spend your time coming up with creative way to punish evil creatures that are small. This is an effective use of your time that will undoubtedly come in handy.
4. Don’t waste money buying 100s of dollars in fancy picture books. Chances are good that they are only gonna let you read the one, most annoying title in the house over and over and over again. You know, the repetitive one, with the bad illustrations? Yeah, that one. Plan to memorize it ‘cause your kid will and if you can recite it without actually having to look at it you may be able to sneak a few peeks at Ellen while you “read”.
5. Don’t encourage them to love music. They will just become little ipod Nazis and make you want to run your car into a ditch by screaming that you, “PAY DA BAYARGIGANS AGAIN MOMMY!” repeatedly. Or, if they are particularly evil, they’ll learn the words to inappropriate songs like Birthday Sex and I Kissed a Girl and sing them in public just to embarrass you. It’s sorta cute at home, but not so much at Mommy and Me class.
6. Find a good hiding place. Have one built if necessary. It’s the only way you’ll ever have a moment alone with an ice cream sandwich again.
7. Don’t require them to socialize with each other. Actually, the less time you allow them to spend with each other the better. It limits the time they have to concoct hair brained activities that are devised to inflict suffering up on you. And, it decreases the rate at which your littler, not-yet-ruined children learn to torment you.
8. Don’t use the word no around them when they are babies. They will learn it and immediately use it against you.
9. Don’t try to keep them from farting/burping/etc. At least not if they are boys. Being in full control of their bodily functions is extremely important as at some point in their lives they will be involved in fart wars, burping contests, or peeing matches. You want your kid to rock these as they are an important test of manhood. Not being able to perform well at these events is almost as damaging as “throwing like a girl” or “screaming like a bi*#@”. Besides, everybody needs to be good at something and being able to fart the National Anthem without deucing himself could be your boy’s one and only claim to fame. Don’t take that away from him.
10. Don’t sweat it if they say they hate you. They probably really do (or at least think they do). But really, who even cares?

Whew!

Anything else you need to know about?

Seriously, I could go on for days.

But I won’t.

I’ll get to the part you really care about and let you go ahead and add your own links to Thank Me Later Thursday.

Please feel free to add my brand new, hand crafted, was-it-custom-designed-by-a-bloody-two-year-old? button to your post if you’re participating (or to your sidebar if you’re not, but you love me anyway).

(It's over there, on the left, down a little, under the other, above the rest.)

And, don't forget to head on over to visit Kmama at The Daily Dribbles and link up to her Thank You Very Much link as well.

*PBD's If You Die Disclaimer*- Should you or anyone around you suffer fatal or irreparable injuries, including, but not limited to accidental loss of limb and fiery death (two of my biggest concerns), while carrying out any of the aformentioned jewels of advice don't look over here. I am ans UNofficial knower of stuff and as such can not be held accountable when my UNofficial advice causes your husband to leave you, your friends to desert you, or social services to make unscheduled visits to your house. If questioned I will deny. Wholeheartedly.

Wordful Wednesday: The Others

After looking back over my blog for the past month I’ve decided that this is what I may as well start calling Dude #1 and Dude #2, The Others.

Because collectively they have shown up on my blog a total of, um, let me just count this up here…

ONCE!

For the nearly-over entire month of January they made ONE appearance.

I’m ashamed really okay I’m not, but it sounded like the right thing to say to even admit their total lack of existence in my little corner of the blogosphere.

Because it’s not like they haven’t been here in real life.

They have (ignore all rumblings you may have heard about a blogging mom attempting to sell her kids on the black market).

Every.

Single.

Night.

Making watching American Idol, or finishing up my articles, or posting on my blog, or thinking straight without someone YELLING IN MY FACE virtually impossible.

They are taking up such a huge part of my life at the moment (well the middle one is at least) that I’m probably blocking out their existence, like some sort of PTSD response to my day.

Or, maybe I’ve not featured them much because the small one is just so stinkin’ cute the camera finds him naturally.

Kidding!

It’s not natural, it’s totally intentional.

But, seriously, only because it was his birthday this month and because he is totally the cutest at the moment.

And maybe because Mister-I-can’t-tear-myself-away-from-a-book-for-one-bloody-second is so eager to be photographed.

Yeahright (but he is handsome, isn’t he?).

At least I can always count on Mr..Photogenic for one thing (well one thing other than telling me he has “the worstest wife EVER!”, and by wife he actually means Life, but L is still hard for him to pronounce which makes statements like this more hilarious than they are sad, which just further pisses him off).

BOOM BABY!

Yeah, I said it.

But only because he did.

But, while we’re on the subject of making an entrance, let me just go ahead and introduce you to a new element debuting on PBD.

It’s actually just a new twist on an old favorite, because, you know, I’m getting bored, and if I’m getting bored you must be darn near to tears at this point.

So, without further adieu, let me introduce you to Thank Me Later Thursdays!

It’s a meme (that’s the word, right, for when I make up an idea that is ridiculously dope and encourage all of you to love it and prove it by writing about it too?) in which you get to tell a lovely unappreciative someone what an awesome job you did on their behalf so that they can thank you for it.

Now this can be a for reals thank me, like to your mom for that time you stepped on the toilet paper that was stuck to her shoe instead of letting her drag it all over her retirement party.

But, it’s also for other times.

Like let’s say you pick up a classmate from college (who’s not really a friend) from the train station even though it’s rush hour, it’s pouring, your five month old is screaming his head off in the back seat, and you are starving because you didn’t have time to grab a bite before starting the trip from Hell. And, when you finally arrive to retrieve the-largely-unimportant-person-who-you-are-helping-outta-the-kindness-of-your-heart she slams your car door and says, “Gawd, could you take any longer?”

She would deserve a Thank Me Later Thursday Post.

Or, let’s say, hypothetically, that you call Wal-Mart (cringe) and ask if you can return something edible if you have the receipt and the gum popping imbecile clerk on the phone confirms that you can. So you get in your car along with your three kids and drive 20 minutes to the craphole store where you proceed to wait in line for 25 more minutes while the toothless broad in the shower cap and obviously-stolen-from-the-nail-shop flip flops argues with the clerk (who is the same gum popping one from the phone) about a rain check (what is that even?). When you finally get up there your baby has diarrhea up to his collar and your other two boys are whining about having to stand so long and the gum popping F-face from the phone says to you, “Nu-uh, we cain’t take back no kinds a food.” And, instead of leaping over the counter and shoving the gum straight down her throat to her small intestine you listen to her ignorant story about how “you coulda had poisoneded them or sumpin’”.

She can Thank You Later because she totally deserved that punch in the face and you both know it.

Or, you can allow us to thank you later and just be all helpful and give us some much needed advice, like how to paint a bathroom without effing it up, or how to bake lasagna without effing it up, or how to raise a kid without effing it up.

See where I’m going with this?

Easy right?

So post yours on you blog, link back to me, add my button when I finally come up with one, and come here on Thursday to link up.

And, I don;t even care if it’s just like a Thank Me Later shout out embedded (even deeply) in another post about something else entirely.

Make it work for you.

I’m easy, remember?!

Boom Baby Is Right!

If I didn't weigh so dang much, I'd be literally blown away by how many people were coerced, threatened, or bribed came over to cast their votes for the Merry Effing Christmas Photo Contest this week.

As it is, I'm amazed!

There really were so many great entries.

They all deserve to win.

Only, since my finances are a bit, um...strained (apparently "Santa's" retainer fee has gone up a bit this year) everyone can't get a gift of the tangible-could-be-sold-on-ebay variety.

But...

Remember high school (I'm probably the only person on the planet who actually longs to go back to high school since that is where I left the thin version of myself), when they had those superlatives for the year book?

You know Most Likely to Succeed (aka biggest dork). Or, Biggest Flirt (aka the fast ones getting all the "action"). Stuff like that.

I always wanted to win one of those, just once.

I woulda been happy with anything...maybe Most Athletic.

But I was a cheerleader, and not the back handspring-ing kind, the stomp-clap-stomp kind.

Okay. So I wasn't a cheerleader at first.

At first, I was the Panther (sorta had to work my way up to real life cheerleader, but I swear, eventually I made it outta the suit and onto the field/court in my real skin).



Pretty sure this temporary vocation of mine reflected unfavorably on the rest of my years.

Point is I never won anything.

Possibly because I wasn't outstanding at anything.

Possibly because of the year I spent as the Panther.

Or, possibly because BFF was busy outshining me at everything.

Do you know that freshman year she won prettiest AND best dressed?!

Seriously! Does one person really need two titles?

Anyway, I thought the best way to do this contest would be to give superlatives to the Hall of Shamers because each of you were awesome in your own possibly-dysfunctional-but-ridiculously-funny ways.

And, I don't want you to feel all scorned or left out because you didn't win anything.

So, in random order, because I figure if you wanna know who got the most votes, you can feel free to spend the next two hours counting all 390 of those bad boys.

#1. From When Did I Become My Mom, aka Kids Easiest to Distract and Least Likely to Pay You Any Mind Even if You Threaten to Put Their Photo on the Internet.



#29. From Hiding From the Kids, aka Most Likely to Meet Santa Behind the Bleachers and Bribe her Friends to Keep Quiet About It.



#6. From Confessions of a Semi-Slacker Mom, aka Most Likely to Win the World's Strongest Man Competition.



#18. From The Mommyologist, aka Most Likely to Drive a Truck, Own a Tractor, or Live in a Trailer with his Mom (which may not be such a bad thing if you're like me and have decided that kids leaving home is the dumbest thing EVER.).



#11 From Blogbaby, aka Biggest Diva, but not in a I-only-drink-boiled-water-delivered-in-the-clean-hands-of-newborn-babies sorta way, more in a I'm-bad-I'm-bad-I'm-bad-I-know-I'm-bad sorta way.



And now that they have all been given something that I was looked over for numerous times in my high school history, I will get to the moment you all have been waiting for...

The Big Announcement!

Who's the Big Winner of the First Annual Merry Effing Christmas Photo Contest?

Who will live in infamy (like my girl Supah, reigning soon-to-be-former-heavyweight champion of the blog world in the Happily (un)Haunted Halloween Photo Contest) and be granted the title of Fuglist Foto Family?

Who will get the awesome prizes; the notoriety; the opportunity to own PBD (for a day at least); the chance to say IN YO FACE WITH A CAN OF MACE, MAKE YOU CRY ALL OVER THE PLACE?!

The one.

The only.

BLOOOOOOOGBAAAAABBBBY!

That's right people.

Blogbaby is my (and my expert panel of judges who shall remain nameless for fear of being retaliated against by the losers and their posses less fortunate entrants)choice.

Please take a moment to sulk like babies congratulate her on her big win!

But, she's not the only one who should be celebrating tonight.

Our second place winner, Chief, should give herself a huge round of applause! She has herself quite a following of afraid for their lives devoted readers who all took the time to vote for her repeatedly.

And, even though her snapshot didn't win THE prize, it did snag her the more appropriate gift of the Big Eye Dummy because she definitely has carved herself out a permaplace here at Casa de Dummies for presenting us all with the most outlandish, asstastic photo EVER.

And, last but not least, let's give it up for Semi-Slacker Mom and her band of Christmas card photo saboteurs. She has been named the second loser runner up in this here contest and should wear her badge of shame with pride!

Thank you to everyone who entered and voted and made this contest tons of fun.

I hope some of you will stick around PBD and see what things are like on a regular basis, but even if you don't, be sure you come back around February 1st to get in on our next photo contest.

It's gonna be big!

HUGE!

And, it won't even require you to make fun of your offspring!

Happy Holidays peeps.

BOOM BABY!

*PBD admits it's free: Please be aware that Dumb Mom worked her tail off by spending countless hours in front of her computer searching for companies to supply the gifts given to the contest winners. Everything (except for the copy of School of Rock since no one would give me Jack Black's celly so I could call him and ask him for a copy) was supplied free of charge. You are welcome and will be expected to can thank me later! XOXO!